Somewhere behind me, in a suburban house they could no longer afford, my family was learning what I already knew: that you can’t buy love, you can’t fake your way to genuine connection, and eventually, every bill comes due.
I hoped they learned something from it. I hoped they became better people.
But mostly, I hoped I never had to find out.
The Bugatti and I disappeared into the California sunshine, leaving nothing behind but tire marks and a lesson they’d probably never fully understand: The janitor they’d dismissed, the embarrassment they’d discarded, the nobody they’d never bothered to truly see—he was always worth more than they’d ever be.
And now, he was finally free.
